


Wedded Bliss

by OfficialStarsandGutters



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Day 4: Together/Married/Happy Ending/Domestic, GW2017A, Gallavich Week, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 10:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11056722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialStarsandGutters/pseuds/OfficialStarsandGutters
Summary: For Gallavich Week Day Four: Together/Married/Happy Ending/Domestic-Ian suggests it for the legal perks. To have greater security as a couple. In case... Well, in case anything ever happened. Mickey nods and agrees, but there is something deeper to it, a possessive coiling deep inside him that likes the idea of claiming Ian so openly, so formally.





	Wedded Bliss

Marriage is not something Mickey was ever interested in. After all, it's just a fuckin' piece of paper, right? The fuck does it matter? He wasn't interested in a lot of things before he met Ian Gallagher. Funny how one person could so wildly change his world view.

Ian suggests it for the legal perks. To have greater security as a couple. In case... Well, in case anything ever happened. Mickey nods and agrees, but there is something deeper to it, a possessive coiling deep inside him that likes the idea of claiming Ian so openly, so formally.

It's not a particularly romantic proposal.

“So... You think you'd maybe wanna give the whole marriage thing a shot, then?” Ian smiles at him; that crooked, fuckin' dorky smile that still makes Mickey's stomach squirm, even now.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, casually, like his heart isn't trying to beat out of his chest. He tries to keep his own wild grin in check. He fails.

*

It's a small affair. Registry office with just their families (Iggy wears shorts and Mickey's stolen Hawaiian shirt. Mickey punches him in the arm for taking his shit). They wear nice button down shirts with dark jeans. Ian's hair is gelled back and his eyes look green today, bright and shining. Mickey, much to his mortification, starts to tear up.

“Fuck sake.” He scowls and rubs a palm into his eye. Ian laughs and catches his wrist, lifting the hand to his lips and pressing a sweet kiss to the back of it. Mickey glares at him. “It's allergies.”

“You allergic to your own bullshit?”

This time it's Ian who is on the receiving end of Mickey's fist.

“That's martial abuse.”

“We ain't married yet.”

“And we won't be if you keep that up,” Ian teases.

They stick to the standard vows. Keep it short and sweet. They know their own affections, and they are for being shared between the two of them, not for being broadcast in front of everyone. They don't hold back on the kiss, though. Ian pulls Mickey forward with a hand on his hip and one coming up to cup his head, and Mickey goes willingly, meets him halfway. It's the club all over again, their first public kiss, only this time there is none of the nerves, none of the deep, gnawing fear. This time he has no inhibitions about kissing Ian hot and deep in the middle of a well lit room in the early afternoon with their families cheering them on.

They're both breathless and lightly flushed when they move apart, both their lips slick with saliva. Mickey looks at Ian with a smile that is sickeningly fond, and Ian looks back with open adoration. It's nothing showy or special, but Mickey thinks it's perfect all the same, thinks they could have got married in some bunker in the middle of a chemical wasteland and it would still be perfect, as long as he was marrying Ian.

“Mr Gallagher.” Ian grins.

“Ey, I never said I was takin' your name, asshole,” Mickey says, but before he can argue further, everyone is sweeping forward to congratulate them.

*

Their honeymoon is bright and hot and sunny. They drink cocktails on the beach. Mickey wears ugly, tacky shirts that clash with his ugly, tacky shorts. Ian burns awfully on the first day and looks like a lobster in all of their photos. Mickey laughs, but gently rubs aloe vera into his skin at night, and slathers him with sunscreen in the morning.

They fuck. Often. With the urgency and passion of their early days.

“I could stay here forever,” Ian says. They're lying together in a large hammock, Ian's arm slipped beneath Mickey's neck, Mickey curled against his side. He's idly playing with Mickey's hair, running his fingers through it. Down the stretch of white sand beach the ocean is blue-green, water clear and warm and full of tropical fish. The sun is setting over it, a brilliant display of colour, pink and orange and purple and red hues; the sky warm and bright and glowing. Mickey's never seen a sky like it. He presses a kiss to Ian's chin, then tucks his head in against his neck.

“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

*

Their house is bright and beautiful. Even if it wasn't, Mickey is sure he'd love it all the same because it's _theirs_. Finally their own home that is completely theirs and theirs alone. He and Ian stand by the gate, just taking a moment to quietly appreciate it. Then Ian holds up the keys. He spins the ring around his finger.

“Wanna do the honours?” he says.

“You do it,” Mickey says. Ian nods and leads the way to the door. He puts the key in, turns it, and pushes the door open to reveal a clean, white hall.

“Shall I carry you across the threshold?”

“Fuck off. Like I'd be the bride.”

Ian tries, all the same. When Mickey keeps struggling out of his hold, he gives up on lifting him bridal style and instead ducks down, catches Mickey's stomach with his shoulder, and hoists him up in a fireman's lift. Mickey is briefly winded, but then he's laughing, hitting at Ian's back. Ian slaps his ass.

“Asshole.”

“Love you, too, Mick,” he says, and carries him into their home.

Everything is bright and white and clean. Fresh. New. Nowhere Mickey ever thought he would belong. Nothing he ever thought he'd have. He looks at Ian, watches him look around the house with a grin, and feels fiercely grateful. There's been a lot of shit in his life, but he's also been given a lot to balance it out.

“I love you.”

“I know.” Ian smiles and kisses him. “Now let's go christen the bed.”

*

“Fuck.” Hair sticks to Mickey's sweat damp forehead. His skin is flushed. His pupils are blown. His lips are puffy from kisses and parted as he pants through them. Ian is above him, his hands in Mickey's, pressing them down into the pillows above his head. He is close enough that Mickey can feel his breath against his face, see the faint freckles on his nose, the near invisible lines of his fair eyelashes. He is pressing into Mickey again, deliciously slow, drawing it out. “Ian.”

“So fuckin' beautiful, Mick,” Ian says. He sounds breathless and reverent. His words make Mickey's skin flush pleasantly, make him feel like he's lounging in the sun on a hot day; warm, relaxed, happy. Ian looks at him like he's something precious. Mickey's eyelashes flutter as Ian grinds into him, rubbing right against his prostate.

It's slow, and long, and by the time Mickey's starting to get close, it's almost tortuous. His prostate is sensitive and overstimulated. His cock is a constant throbbing ache. He hisses when Ian finally touches it, long fingers curling around him with easy familiarity. The touch alone is almost too much. Mickey's fingers fist tight in the sheets, knuckles turning white, hips bucking, desperate whimpers leaking from his mouth as he comes apart beneath Ian, for Ian. It's almost enough to bring him to tears.

“Fuck.” He breathes out in a long exhale. Ian is along his back now. Mickey's not sure when he moved, if he was present for that or if he temporarily blacked out. He's too tired to ask. He presses back against Ian's embrace, tugs Ian's arm around his waist and interlocks their fingers. Ian's lips are hot and firm against the back of his neck.

“Night, Mick.” Ian nuzzles against the back of his head. “I love you.”

Mickey is too tired to reply.

*

He wakes alone. The bed is uncomfortable and he is cold. A distant bang has woken him. He doesn't open his eyes. He lies beneath a thin, scratchy sheet and listens to the sound of prison. Already the warm residual feeling of the dream is slipping away. He knows when he opens his eyes he will be in a grey, barren cell. He knows Ian is getting on with his life without him. Most of all, he knows there are no happy endings.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to rewrite a fairy tale for this day but I didn't have the time, so. Sorry.


End file.
